


here I dreamt (I was an architect)

by flailingthroughsanity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 08:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17321747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flailingthroughsanity/pseuds/flailingthroughsanity
Summary: “He told me to tell you ‘hello’”, Shiro said – the wirings in his throat roughened with disuse, ravaged by time but he continued, it must have been important, it had to be – and the silent figures before him nodded. “It was all he ever wanted.Hello, hello, it’s nice to meet you.”Keith and Shiro — stars, ancient astronauts, space and time — and all of infinity.





	here I dreamt (I was an architect)

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to [jaeseoksoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaeseoksoo) for slating in a quick read on this fic since I suddenly had a meta-existential crisis about it AND nitpicking all of my drawn out sentences. I'm a sucker for dystopian AUs, and I've been in the mood to putting my OTPs in them. Hopefully, you guys will enjoy this fic!
> 
> Partially inspired by [Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do_Androids_Dream_of_Electric_Sheep%3F).
> 
> [[PLAYLIST](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLl3x1Z8e2l8gS7p1inw04hGuMbF499iAE)]

 

Keith sighed, the cold dawn air exhaled in faint wispy puffs. The dim light creasing through the grey clouds cast a shadow over the debris, and he squinted, letting his gaze adapt to the brightening sky. With a gloved hand, he felt around – through the rocks and the chunks of concrete, feeling steel rods, rusty with age, and splintered glass, dulled by time.  
  
The air was freezing, slightly more so in the late February weather but he perseveres, using both hands to push a boulder away. He ignored it as it rolled away, crunching glass under its wake. The sound pierced the silence, punctuated by his breathing.  
  
Brushing away the crunched glass, Keith exhaled – eyes raking over the nano-plaster skin, its original white color faded into a grey. He felt his way over the intact casing, noting its finely-threaded wires. He reached for his bag behind him, angling his hand and feeling for the laser cutter. Pulling it out of the bag, Keith bit his lip and estimated the incision on the droid’s pectoral plating. Setting the power to its minimum, he squinted as he began hacking away at the plaster – bright blue-ish light, hot and sizzling, cutting through dense material like it was air. Faint smoke trailed, and Keith inhaled – used to the smell of burning synthetic. Above, the sky continued brightening – the grey clouds trailing in rose and red as dawn began.  
  
Turning the laser cutter off, Keith leaned back, sweat dotting his temple, feeling hot despite the breeze. Putting the cutter back into his bag, Keith stood and, with gloved hands, held the newly cut-flap and pulled, grimacing as he put more force into the pull – hearing crunching as the flap was forced open – revealing the droid’s inner circuitry. He knelt on the snow-covered landing, pulling his glow stick and flicked it on. He let his eyes adjust to the green light, angling close to the droid’s open hull — it was mostly intact, dating perhaps two to three decades ago — and Keith realized it was mostly due to its nano-plaster coating.  
  
He moved closer, seeing wires hooked to its main power generator in the center of the chest, and he examined the wirings – mostly familiar – and he saw it: a capacitor, nestled under the internal fan and next to the spinal casing. He turned back to his bag, a little excited, and he took out the multi meter, attaching the hooks to both ends of the capacitor. Turning the dial up, his eyes widened and he held his breath, seeing digits on the display and the capacitor's ends glowing. With hands that only shook for a moment, he took the meter away and stuffed it back. Carefully, he unhooked the capacitor from its nest – taking note of the delicate strands, making sure not to damage it even the slightest bit. With an almost silent click, he released the capacitor and it fell, safe and secure, into his waiting palm. Slowly pulling it out of the droid’s cavity, he took out the box from his bag. Unclasping its hook and placed the capacitor inside, secure in its little coffin, before locking it back in.  
  
His mission done, Keith placed the box back in his bag and gathered his things. The sun was already a bit above the horizon, and he raised a hand to cover his eyes as light flooded through the darkness. The sky was brightening to its usual early morning scarlet, and he secured the straps of the bag under his arms.  
  
Keith exhaled, turning his gaze over the ancient Mapo district, seeing decrepit skyscrapers and ghosts. He makes his way down, feet pedaling towards home.  
  
The droid’s lone silicon eye gazed after him, empty, buried under mounds of snow and rubble.

* * *

When he arrived home, Keith carefully placed the bag on the beaten-up couch, groping for the box inside. Pulling it out, he walks to the corner of the room, setting the box on the desk and unlocking it. Taking off his gloves, he felt the capacitor’s surface — a little cold, buried under freezing snow and debris — before he settled it next to the generator. Unhooking the wires from its side, he went through the entire thing in reverse – carefully threading both its ends to the generator’s wiring. When he had finished, he stepped back and leaned over, punching the button, and the generator whirs, ancient but alive, and the capacitor hums – ends glowing.  
  
In spite of the feeling of accomplishment running through his veins, Keith knew it would take a while before it would hit full capacity. Ignoring the figure laying atop the table by the mirror, Keith scrambled for something to eat. He hadn’t had breakfast yet, and sifting through the cupboard, he pulled out ration packs. Ripping it open and heating it on the little stove, Keith can’t help but frown at the smell — he knows he should be used to it, but there was no denying it wasn’t going to taste good — and when it was heated enough, he poured it on to a bowl.  
  
He walked back out of his little nest, climbing over the bent blast door, and he settled on the ledge beside the ladder, feet dangling. With an old spoon, he scooped the dark, brown goo and dove into his meal, ignoring its stale taste, letting the warmth fill his aching stomach. The wind blew, and his hair swayed — falling into his eyes.  
  
Keith continued his meal in the silence – it was mid-morning, the sun halfway up to its apex, grey clouds drifting overhead. Old Seoul lay in silence beyond, an empty husk of a long dead beast. He kicks his feet in the air, a little unconsciously, trailing his gaze down the dried-out Han river, hundreds of feet in the air.  
  
“It’ll probably be evening when it’s charged,” He said, although it may have been a little difficult to understand through the, well, food — if the mashed rations were even edible enough to be considered _food_ — in his mouth. “I had to put the generator in emergency mode, it’s running on seventeen percent today.”  
  
He swirled his spoon and scraped more of the melted rations into his mouth. “I think I saw a mostly intact car down by Mapo, I’ll try looking for it by the end of the week. Generator’s enough to run for most of the week, anyway.”  
  
Keith chuckled. “But I guess that would mean we’d cut an hour out on TV time for a few days. We’ll have to stick to one episode for now.”  
  
He turned his gaze, eyes resting on the motionless figure atop the table. “I’ll see you tonight, Shiro.”

* * *

It’s almost near midnight when the generator stops whirring, beeping once as it shuts down. Keith awakened to the sound, feeling exhaustion still holding on to the edges of his consciousness and he sat up, groaning as he stretches his arms out. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch, all he intended was to lie down for a second and close his eyes, and before he knew it, he had slumbered. Carefully making his way through the dark room, save for the moonlit areas, he flicked the power on for the lamp hooked to the ceiling. Amber light flooded the room, soft and cozy, casting shadows on the dents of the steel walls.  
  
He walked closer to the door, and leaned against the thick metal, watching the bright moon glowing in the distance. Turning away, he ambled towards the generator, finding the capacitor full. Unhooking it once more, he carried it to the table, setting it beside his tools.  
  
For a moment, Keith let himself gaze over Shiro’s face, and noted the neo-plaster casing by his cheek was smudging a little. Tenderly, he unbuttoned Shiro’s shirt, old blue cloth opening to alabaster neo-plaster, decidedly tan and warm under the amber light. He prodded the skin by the right nipple, and feeling the almost unnoticeable indent, pushed with his finger. A whir, and Shiro’s chest cavity opened, revealing roughly-hewn circuitry, handmade over the years. Keith placed the capacitor inside, nestling it in between the internal fan and the spinal casing – he hooked both of its end to the wirings, and breathed in relief as the capacitor locked and glowed. Setting his tools aside, Keith closed Shiro’s hull, locking it in. He buttons the shirt back on, and combs through the synthetic black hair.  
  
Taupe eyes open, and a faint electric humming ran through the air.  
  
Keith smiled and whispered. “Hey.”

* * *

“We’re gonna have to cut down on our TV time, you know.” Keith says, pulling his bag over his shoulders. It was a Wednesday, if his memory and sense of time served him well, and they were going down to Seoul, perhaps swing by the Gangnam area to scavenge for rations and power supplies.  
  
Shiro stares at him, silent and still. Keith holds a glow stick out to him. “Here, oh, and don’t forget to bring the first aid kit, just in case.”  
  
Keith turns the power down on the lamps, and waits by the door, watching the morning sun rise again. Shiro turns and walks to the corner where their survival kits were, and pulled on a bag. Keith smiles at him as the other walks back to the door, silent.  
  
“I missed you, you know. Took me a while to find a decent capacitor – I think that’ll hold for a few months, at most.” He smiles, ignoring the worry in his mind when this new capacitor would fail out. Shiro stares back, taupe eyes fathomless in their response.  
  
Keith chuckles. “Yeah, I know you miss me, too. Come on, let’s go before it hits noon or it’s gonna be hot as fuck.”  
  
Together, they climb down the ladder – Keith holding on to the rails tight as they make their way down – crossing several hundred feet in ease, used to the errand. Shiro follows suit, not displaying the occasional slip Keith has, and he frowns – a little annoyed at Shiro’s impeccability.  
  
They touch ground, and Keith shakes his arms to stretch out the burn. Shiro stands beside him, gazing emptily at the empty road before them. Keith follows his gaze, glancing over  the broken asphalt and the still-standing foundations of ancient skyscrapers.  
  
“Come on, those batteries aren’t gonna find themselves.” Grabbing on to Shiro’s hand, Keith walks forward and the other follows obediently.  
  
They rift through the streets, climbing over piles of debris and jumping from ledge to ledge. Keith giggles as Shiro steps on what looked like melted rubber and he laughs even harder as the other pauses and look down at his feet, slightly perturbed at the disorganized cadence. They come across something that may have been a pharmacy, if the faded red cross was any indication, and Keith walked in.  
  
He was right, it was a pharmacy, and he knelt, squinting in the slightly dark room, looking through the discarded medicine. “Man, most of these expired decades ago. Here I was, hoping for at least an analgesic.”  
  
Keith turned to Shiro, standing by the open door, his figure shadowed as he stood in light. “Do you think there’d be another pharmacy down the east block?  
  
Shiro remains silent.  
  
Keith hums. “Yeah, you’re right. Seoul’s big, there’s bound to be more than one pharmacy.”  
  
He stands back up, dusting off the grit staining his jeans and walked back out, holding Shiro’s hand.

* * *

“Um...I really don’t think so.”  
  
Keith frowned, cocking his head to the side as he sipped on water. They were at the edge of the old Hongdae district, sitting on the sidewalk – considerably more intact than most of the others – and Keith had started feeling hungry. Biting into the cracker-like rations, Keith swallowed before turning to Shiro, his own pack of rations open on his lap, untouched. Shiro stared ahead, and Keith turned his gaze back to the wall. There was an old ad, maybe dating a few years back, and although it had mostly faded with age – drawn over with graffiti and its own paint chipped off by the weather - he can still see the smiling lady, holding a bowl of ramen, if that’s what it was, in her hands. _Breakfast, lunch and dinner_ – _ramen you can’t get enough!_  waswritten beside her. It was an old advert, back when people probably bustled past these streets.  
  
Keith shakes his head. “No, I don’t think it’d taste good.”  
  
He looked at the reddish-colored — was that _water?_ — on the ad. “I don’t think water’s supposed to be that red, anyway. Yeah, ramen probably tasted awful.”  
  
Shiro is silent.  
  
Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying that it _is_ , but it could be. I’ve never seen water that red. Looks like blood, and blood does not taste good.”  
  
The wind picks up through the empty street.  
  
“Shiro, I don’t eat blood. I just bit my lip and it ripped open and I tasted it, and it did not taste good at all.”  
  
Keith turned to the other, crunching on his rations. “What? It happened a long time ago anyway, nothing to get you worried.”  
  
He opened his mouth and pouted, ignoring the dried out flakes of rations in his teeth and angled it to Shiro. The other continued staring at the wall. “See? It’s all healed up and stuff.”  
  
Taking a big sip of the water in his flask, Keith turned back to Shiro and stared at the untouched rations on his lap. He frowned. “You are such a picky eater,” He groused, grabbing the rations and putting it back in his bag. “Okay, break time’s over. Let’s go back to business.”  
  
He stood, securing his bag again. Shiro stood, looking at him.  
  
Keith smiled, reaching out to grasp the other’s hand, thumbing the skin over the nano-plaster. He edged closer, and pecked the other on the cheek. Blood rushed to his face and he bit his lip, looking up at Shiro under his fringe. “Come on, let’s get going.”  
  
They continued on, Keith swinging their linked fists, humming a lively tune. Hongdae’s steel skyscrapers towered over them, listening to his merry song, mute and decrepit in their age.

* * *

Afternoon comes, whittling down the heat over the horizon. They reached the Gangnam district, and Keith stopped in his footsteps. Just like the rest of Old Seoul, Gangnam is ruined – remains of a nuclear fallout from a time he doesn’t remember or know. He can imagine the tall towers, reaching towards the sky – now reduced to rubble, covered in swaths of decay and melted snow. He continues forward, water splashing beneath his boots – Shiro follows. The street before them lies broken, asphalt and steel in craters at the intersection. Keith stops by the edge, and peers over. There’s a deeper channel under and Keith hums.  
  
“I think,” turning to Shiro, he frowns quizzically, “people traveled here.”  
  
Shiro turns his head to gaze at the chasm. Keith points to the channel under the broken street.  
  
“You see, it’s really big. It must have been used as a pathway – like an underground road.”  
  
He turns back to the street, cocking his head. “But walking by foot would have been tiring. Maybe they used something to travel on? Like a car – but maybe bigger! Don’t you think so?”  
  
A beat.  
  
“Yeah, same. We’ll just dig that book back up when we get home and see if we can find something like that. Must be cool.”  
  
He can imagine it already – something big, or long, and something people used to ride on to travel. It would be like a car, with lots of wheels to accommodate its size…and then there’d be big windows, for people to look out from. But, and Keith peeks down on the crater, what was there to look at? It seemed so closed off, and underground too.  
  
“Come on,” He flaps a hand at Shiro. “Let’s hurry, and we’ll think about it later when we get home.”  
  
Climbing over the pile of rubble by the side, Keith jumps off and makes his way down Gangnam’s ruins, Shiro following like a specter.  
  
They tread past empty alleys, and peek in through the broken windows of downed buildings – Keith makes a face at his own reflection, his hair falling into his eyes and down the sides of his face – longer now, and he looks at Shiro, staring back at him through the glass. He makes a funny expression and laughs to himself, and links his hand with Shiro’s. The other is taciturn, carrying the backpack without complaint, staring listlessly forward unless called by Keith.  
  
True to form, they do come across another pharmacy and when Keith cracks open cabinet doors, boxes of medicine fall to the ground. He opens a few of them, bringing the tablets close to smell – some of them smell bad, and some have green stuff growing on them. He frowns, annoyed at finding nothing again, and he sweeps the boxes away. His eyes land on bandages, packed, at the back and takes small victories for what they are, putting them all in Shiro’s bag.  
  
They are about to leave, when Keith catches sight of a discarded pile in the corner. As he steps closer, he sees something – a book, it may have been one – and when he pulls it out, he smiles to himself.  
  
“It really is a book!” Keith exclaims, wiping the cover on his jeans. He squints, making out the words. “As-tro-no-my? Astro-nomy? Astronomy?”  
  
He directs his next question to Shiro. “What’s astronomy?”  
  
He turns back to the book. “Well, I’m taking it back home with me.”  
  
Keith smiles at Shiro. “Alright, I’m done. Let’s go home?”  
  
He holds Shiro’ hand again, walking out of the broken building.  
  
“I know, I know. Don’t worry – we’ll get back in time for _Pillow Talk_ .”

* * *

Night falls, and Keith turns the lamp on. Amber light floods the room, and he hurries on to close the door, shutting out the sudden chilly breeze. The blast door is heavy, but he’s used to it – have been for years – and he slides it close with ease. Shiro is sitting on the beaten-up couch – and Keith admits, it’s not really a couch, but scraps of foam he’s managed to gather and form into a semblance of something they could sit on – and he is facing the television. Keith grabs the book they found in Gangnam and settles himself beside Shiro, bringing his feet up and curling them under himself. He leans into Shiro.  
  
“Generator’s still running on low, so we’re gonna have to cut down movie time to one film for the next few days.” He says, guiltily and regrettably. Shiro is unresponsive.  
  
“I’m sorry; I wasn’t able to look for more batteries. I had to put your capacitor on top priority, you know.”  
  
Keith flushed red, and angles his face away from Shiro. “What? I had to. You’re always my top priority.”  
  
He turns back to Shiro, settling the book in between them. He grabs one of Shiro’s hands. “You remember, right? The promise we made back then? Even I don’t remember everything, but I remember that. I remember that promise, most of all.”  
  
He smiles up at Shiro, eyes trailing down the side of the other’s face. “I was eight. I think I was, anyway. I don’t remember anything before that. I just woke up to this, and I was in the middle of Old Seoul. I remember it as clear as day.”  
  
And he does remember it — as intense and as vivid as the evening cold: the dark, tumultuous grey clouds, blanketing across the skies, sweeping; rain fell in a slight drizzle, and Keith remembers looking up, clad in only a lone hospital gown, hair sticking to his skin as rain beat him down. He remembered calling for someone, and he can still remember the name – the word he used – “mother”, but he had no idea who was mother, or what a mother was. All he knew then was that “mother” was safe, “mother” was warm, “mother” was home. He remembers calling, screaming, and his voice carrying over the silence, skimming above bent steel foundations, whispering past broken glass and dancing across the ruined streets.  
  
He rests his head down on Shiro’s shoulder. “Do you remember? That’s when we first met.”  
  
And as his eight-year old voice grew hoarse from crying out for an absent “mother”, he remembers someone walking up to him – it wasn’t “mother”, it was someone else. But this other person, he called himself Shiro, and he was nice. He asked if he was alright, he asked if he was alone, and he asked if he was scared.  
  
“Yes, I am.” Keith whispers the words. “I said the same exact thing. And then you held my hand, and then I wasn’t scared anymore.”  
  
Shiro is still.  
  
“And then you promised me – that I’d never be alone again.”

* * *

Keith turns the television on, and he flicks through the menu. He remembers, years ago, how foreign it was to use such a thing – and he remembers laughing at having no idea what to do with it. Shiro had spent most of that day informing him of its usage; all of it went flying over Keith's head.

He starts the movie, and he settles back on the couch. He wants to go through the Astronomy book but his eyes feel heavy, exhausted after a long day of walking through Old Seoul, and he stretches out on the couch, resting his head on Shiro’s lap. The other is still, eyes forward, taking in the movie playing. Keith breathes, inhaling the scent of dirt, dust and grease and he reaches behind him for Shiro’s hand. He lays it against his side, lacing their fingers together.  
  
His eyelids droop, and it’s difficult to keep them open anymore. He sees Shiro staring straight at the television, watching ‘Rock Hudson’ and ‘Doris Day’ kiss, and he falls asleep.

* * *

“Yeah, I think that’s better.”  
  
Keith angles his head sideways, letting Shiro’s fingers comb through his hair. It’s longer now, falling past his chin. He would have cut it, but he sort of likes the way it looks on him.  
  
Shiro is sitting behind him, curling his fingers through Keith’s tresses. He smiles at the feeling of the other’s soft touch, closing his eyes at the buzz of pleasure crawling down his scalp.  
  
When Shiro is pulling his hair back, Keith opens his eyes. He looks at the mirror, at his own face, noting how bare he looked with his hair pulled back, unable to cover his eyes. He takes in his sharp purple eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lip – the faint tan, swathes of pale gold across alabaster – and feels Shiro tie his hair with a band.  
  
He turns back to the other, and thanks him.

* * *

Keith half-screams, half-laughs, as he tries to keep his balance, feeling the flap under him threatening to throw him sideways down the Han river’s rocky bed. The breeze is strong, his scarf flapping madly, but his hair is locked in a bun, away from his eyes and he squints as dust comes close. He holds his arms sideways, steadying him, and he bends a little, mouth open and adrenaline running in his veins as he skates down the slope. It begins to descend down flat, and Keith relaxes his muscles a bit as the flap he’s skating on skids slowly to a stop, pebbles and rock crumbling underfoot.  
  
He jumps off it, and still feeling like he might fall sideways, turns to Shiro at the top of the bank, exhilarated.  
  
“That was awesome! You should try it!”  
  
Shiro doesn’t, but he slowly makes his way down on foot – back straight and unbending, cadence unbroken. Keith stays where he is, letting his breathing get back to normal, watching Shiro come to him. The last dregs of his earlier high fades away, and he reaches a hand up to wipe the sweat dotting his forehead.  
  
Shiro stands before him, looking at him – waiting – and Keith smiles.  
  
“It’s not gonna hurt you, you know. I know you’re scared of heights.” Keith chuckles to himself at Shiro’s expressionless face. “but it’s not that bad, once you get used to it.”  
  
He stands next to the other. “It’s okay, though. I can wait until you’re ready to do it with me. That’d be nice, yeah? We can have a contest, first one to win can have TV rights or something – we can think of something. Or you can think of something, and I can practice some more. Pretty sure when you get the hang of it, you’ll beat me.”  
  
Keith chuckles again, walking around the riverbed. “Can you believe this used to be filled with so much water?”  
  
Shiro turns north, to the mouth of the river cutting through Old Seoul. Keith nods, standing beside him. “Yeah, it is! Or, was. It would be a lot of water, a lot enough to see from a distance. Do you think it came from the rain? Or do you think it came from somewhere else?”  
  
He looks behind him, at the other end of the river, the dirt-trail treading to the distance – too far for him to see. “We’ve never really seen where the river ends. What do you think is at the end of it?”  
  
Shiro follows his gaze.  
  
“Do you think it’d stop at Old Seoul’s ends? Or do you think it goes on forever? Or,” and Keith turns back to Shiro. “what if there’s something awesome at the end? What if there are magic treasures or something, like that _Lord of the Rings_ movie back at home?”  
  
And what if it ran forever? Keith wondered, eyeing the horizon. What if the Han river was endless – cutting across Old Seoul, and maybe continuing onwards, down paths he’s never been – paths he’s never had the courage to go take – and what if on the way, he’d see things he could have never imagined?

Or maybe, it will end. Maybe it has an end, and Keith would like to see that, too. Maybe, and he thinks, it doesn’t really matter what’s at the end and he just wants to know if there even is one at all.

He turns to see Shiro looking eastward, and he follows the other’s gaze, and sees home.

* * *

They walk back up the trail, the afternoon sun painting the skies in palettes of fiery orange and scarlet – it’s like everything’s on fire, to Keith that is, when the sun is about to set. He turns his gaze to the way the shadows grow longer and bigger, casting rubble and ruined cities in growing darkness.  
  
Shiro walks ahead, and Keith pauses in his step – looking up.  
  
He watches Shiro’s back, shadowed, outlined in gold and crimson by the dying day’s light, watches the wind caress his hair, swaying, and Keith smiles and makes his way home, too, climbing up the steps to their little nest.  
  
He remembers Shiro calling it an “aeroplane” and that it must have crashed in low altitude, keeping it somewhat intact, and Keith took a moment to peek at their home’s one remaining wing – huh, he has no idea what an aeroplane was but it must have been something cool.

* * *

“Yes, the batteries work!” Keith exclaimed, and he hurried over to Shiro.  
  
The other allows himself to be pulled, and Keith angled the device – ‘camera’, Shiro called it once, a long time ago – and points it at themselves.  
  
“Okay, let’s try it out. You said to press this button, right? And also to make sure it’s pointing at someone, right?”  
  
Shiro was silent, letting the other fuss with the camera.  
  
“I still can’t believe the batteries worked.” Keith whispered to himself, setting the camera before them. “Okay, so let’s be ready.”  
  
He holds the device out, and makes sure to have it pointed at them. He’s not really sure what it does, but he remembers Shiro telling him that people used to do it a lot, in small tiny box-like things. He’s very curious about what it does, and Keith’s always had a nose for curiousity.  
  
“Alright, I’m gonna press it now.”  
  
And he presses the button, and his eyes widen when there’s a flash of light and he drops the camera in shock. “What was that?!”  
  
Shiro, beside him, was still as ever, looking at the camera on the ground. Keith stared at it, a little wary and still shocked at the flash.  
  
There was a whirring sound and then something white comes out of the side, square-like, and it looks like paper to him. He treads closer and pulls it out from the camera, and with amazement, watches its black underside slowly gain colour until he sees his own face and Shiro’s staring back at him, his own wide eyes mirroring one another.  
  
He walked over to Shiro, still looking at the thing in his hand, and he hands it to the other. Shiro took it from him, grip secure, and looked down at it.  
  
“That’s really cool.” Keith said – smiling at their faces in the little thing. Shiro gives no response, merely continues to take it all in.

* * *

“I really can’t imagine it.” Keith says, swallowing down the melted rations. They’re on the ‘rooftop’, on the somewhat horizontal landing of the aeroplane’s upper body. Above, the moon shines brightly – blessing ample light on Old Seoul, and Shiro is silver under the light. Keith peeks at him and turns back to the ruined city below. It looks scary at night, and the more Keith stares, the more it frightens him. It looks big and dark, somewhere he’d get lost and he doesn’t like the idea.  
  
“The books keep saying that people lived in cities, some of them even had millions! What’s a millions?”  
  
He crunches on a cracker. “Wow, that’s a lot. Imagine if there were that many people! Wouldn’t that make everything crowded? Like – where would they live, and would they all fit in there?”  
  
He turns back to the ruins. “And, if there were that many people – what would they do? Would all of them have jobs or would some of them do different things? What jobs would they even do?”  
  
Keith pulls the blanket closer around him and Shiro, snuggling into the other’s side. “I think some of them would probably work to help others, right? I mean, there has to be some of them who want that kind of job. There would also be some that could lead? If there were that many people, someone has to be the leader! Or they could all help each other – yeah, that would be nice, too. And, and, some of them would probably make things – like those buildings and that hole in the  ground we saw, I think that’s what you called it, and they could make them super tall – tall enough to reach the moon or make holes for people to walk under and get to places. That would be nice.”  
  
He tries to imagine it – millions of people – and he imagines a lot and he imagines them building skyscrapers and tunnels, steel and stone reaching the heavens, and helping other people, and he imagines some leading others – for others to look up to – or they could all just help each other, the way he and Shiro help each other, and although it’s difficult, and it sort of hurts his head to imagine a lot of things at one given time, he likes what it means. No one would be hurt. No one would be lost. No one would be lonely.  
  
“And maybe,” He looks up now, at the vast blanket of night, bright lights too many for him to count, “they could build aeroplanes and go there, and who knows what they might find? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

* * *

“No, no, no, not like that, silly.”  
  
Keith laughs again, angling his body to the side and moving his foot so Shiro doesn’t step on it. With his leg, he moves Shiro’s foot sideways, in the right direction. Satisfied, he places his hand back on Shiro’s shoulder and uses the other to lace his fingers with Shiro’s and extended it sideways.  
  
“Okay, so when I move my foot here,” and he demonstrates for Shiro to copy, “you follow with your foot, okay?”  
  
He makes a curving motion with his foot, and Shiro stares, looking into his eyes.  
  
Keith smiles. “You’ll get the hang of it, trust me. So, let’s try it again.”  
  
They do the step again, and Shiro follows his lead, and he doesn’t slip again and Keith smiles wide. “Okay, that was good. Now, after that step, we just go back to the start and do it again. It’s easy, right? I told you it’d be easy.”  
  
“Okay, here we go. One, two, three, four…”  
  
And Keith leads again, stepping back in a circle, from tip toe to flat to tip toe once more, and Shiro follows, and this time he doesn’t end up stepping on Keith’s foot. They continue on, Keith breathing out his counts, and he smiles when they come full circle and they did it perfectly.  
  
“See? I told you, you’d get the hang of it. Ready for the real thing?”  
  
Shiro’s eyes – ochre in the amber light – never leave his and Keith nods, running to the television. He presses the play button and he runs back to Shiro, still in the same spot, and when the song begins, he smiles.  
  
“Just like how we practiced.” He says, and he begins anew.  
  
They start slow, following the beat of the song, and Keith’s smile widens as Shiro follows effortlessly. Artificial amber light paints shadows across Shiro’s face, and Keith can’t help the honey-like warmth running through him as they continue around the room. He moves closer, and slowly, as they turn and turn, lays his head on Shiro’s shoulder, left hand still aloft, fingers laced. Their pace doesn’t stop, but it does slow down until they’re just slowly swaying in place.  
  
Keith closes his eyes and tucks his nose against Shiro’s neck, softly singing along to the man singing in the television.  
  
Shiro’s hand is firm on his waist and he presses a faint kiss on the other’s neck.  
  
“Fooled around and fell in love,” he hums, he sings. “I fooled around and fell in love.”

* * *

He’s awake, gazing at the soft moonlight cutting in through the circular windows. Keith moves in bed, curling his leg against Shiro’s and angling his head, finding purchase on the other’s unmoving chest. He reaches a hand up, tracing the bare skin of Shiro’s chest, fingers skimming over their planes. Shiro is looking straight up at the ceiling, still as ever.  
  
The light lends a softness to Shiro’s features – less rough, less sharp and Keith traces his chin, to the slope of his cheek, to the edge of his nose and even up to the fine hairs of his eyebrows.  
  
“I’m really happy I have you back.” He says, voice soft and almost silent.  
  
Keith is, he really is, happy to have Shiro back. He doesn’t remember everything, but what he can – what’s important – is filled with Shiro, in one way or other: in Shiro’s presence, the outline of his back tinged in scarlet and gold; his ochre eyes staring forward; the wind caressing his hair into a little dance; fingers combing through his hair, pulling them back in a bun; moonlight and the nebulae above, warm under a blanket, atop an aeroplane; grey-coloured skies and rain, and crying out for safety.  
  
“Even,” and Keith bites his lip, and for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t sound as upbeat, “even if you no longer say anything, even if you can’t speak anymore, I’m still happy to have you back.”  
  
He presses his cheek back to Shiro’s chest, and feels his eye sting, holding tight to the other’s hand. “It’s wonderful to have you back.”

* * *

The Astronomy book lies to the side, discarded, and Keith stares up at the stars. They, the people from before – the people long gone – the people of Old Seoul and Old Earth, they called it _stars_. They called it _stars_ , and _lights_ , named it _Andromeda_ and _Cassiopeia_ , called the morning star _Venus_ , and the red fixture in the distance _Jupiter_.

He points a hand to the bright dot, northward, and turns to Shiro. “They called that _Polaris_. They called it the _North star_. They said people – sailors – would use it to find their way home at sea. That’s amazing, isn’t it? You told me about that, the sea, how it’s really big and it seems endless and it’s filled with water – bigger than the Han river – bigger than anything I’ve ever seen and people at sea can look for that North star to find their way home.”  
  
He turns back to the stars, twinkling and bright, a blanket of lights, surrounding the moon. “There were people, out there, so far from us, from beyond Old Seoul. They would look up at the same stars, and the same sky and they’d see Polaris and use it to find their way home. Isn’t that nice, Shiro? That in this really big place, we’re all under the same sky? That we’re not that different after all?”  
  
He closes his eyes and imagines. “And what about Venus? And Jupiter? Or on Mars? What if other people lived there too? What if there are others, like us, in those places, too? What if they thought they were alone – alone in this big universe – like us, but then they’d travel and they’d come here and they’d realize ‘ _Oh, we’re not alone, after all_ .’”  
  
Keith smiles. “I would like that. It’s nice not to be alone, and we’d meet them and they’d meet us and we’d all talk and be friends. They would know about how we live, and we could take them to Gangnam or we can go skating on the Han river. We can even walk the river’s length, and see where it ends – or if it ends! They’d help us, they’d be nice like that, and we’d all go on a treasure hunt like Frodo Baggins and we’d become friends along the way.  
  
Maybe they’d sleep with us here, in this aeroplane. Or, maybe, we could see their aeroplane! Maybe we could see how they travel!”  
  
He turns back to Shiro, and finds the other already staring back at him. “We could go out there, Shiro. We could go to Polaris or to _Ursa Major_ or to Andromeda. We could travel and fly there and see other people.”  
  
In a softer voice, he continues. “We wouldn’t have to be alone, anymore. We could say ‘hello, it’s nice to meet you’ and we could hear it back.”  
  
_And wouldn’t that be nice?_ Keith thinks it would be, and he holds on tight to Shiro — he can see it, him and Shiro in a space ship – like a car or something, and they would see the moon up close or they could and land on Polaris and find out why people look to her for direction, and he closes his eyes - dreaming of stars and sailors on moons and ancient astronauts coursing through outer space.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A creaking noise, like steel grinding against steel, breaks the silence and Shiro’s system awakens. An internal diagnostic of his capacitor notifies him that his generator is operating on less than one percent energy, almost empty from hibernation. The motherboard in his system – responsible for giving him thought – doesn’t find it alarming.  
  
Light floods into the room, and the door falls to the ground. He wants to move, to stand, but the mechanisms running his body isn’t obeying his command prompts. He deduces that time and age had worn most of his circuitry down.  
  
Steps come into the room, and he looks up.  
  
An unidentified voice speaks, and Shiro records a sample to locate a filial language. He finds none. The user is speaking in a language not in his database.  
  
Another voice, speaking in the same language, pipes up and light is pointed at him. Shiro doesn’t blink – his optics adjusts to the intensity – and he makes out the outlines of two humanoid figures.  
  
The first voice prods again, still in the same unrecognized language.  
  
An older command prompt, ingrained in his system, and his internal recordings sift through his memory, comes up and he obeys.  
  
“He-llo. Hell-o.” Shiro speaks, and he pauses, letting his voice box adjust from disuse. He speaks out again. “Hell-o. Hell-o. It—is—nice to meet—you.”  
  
The two figures pause, and Shiro repeats. “Hell-o. Hell-o. It is nice to meet you.”  
  
The second voice comes up, this time softer, and Shiro recognizes him addressing the other. A beat of silence pass before the voice comes in again – it’s the first one, and Shiro recognizes the language now.  
  
“What is your name?” The first speaker asked.  
  
“SHIR-O.” Shiro answered, then his internal memory recalibrates. “My master called me Shiro.”  
  
“Your master?” Shiro nodded. The command prompt, the one responsible for making him speak, recalibrates to an older one and Shiro’s internal recorder plays. His master’s voice comes alive.  
  
_“We wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. We could say ‘hello, it’s nice to meet you’ and we could hear it back.”_  
  
“Hell-o. Hell-o. It is nice to meet you.” Shiro repeats, Keith’s voice cycling over and over.  
  
“He told me to tell you ‘ _hello_ ’ ”, Shiro said – the wirings in his throat roughened with disuse, ravaged by time but he continued, it must have been important, it had to be – and the silent figures before him nodded. “It was all he ever wanted. Hello, hello, it’s nice to meet you.”  
  
_“Wouldn’t that be nice, Shiro?”_  
  
His security prompts ring up, and Shiro’s entire system starts fluctuating, his generator slowly losing power. His receptors begin malfunctioning, recording only snippets cut haphazardly.  
  
“—amazing—Kol-van—droid—thousand years old!—“  
  
_“—you miss—too. Come on, let’s go before —noon —be hot —”_  
  
“Ul—az—survive—extinction—relic—“  
  
“Hell-o. Hell-o.” Shiro continues, running on his master’s last command. “It—nice—meet—you.”  
  
_“Fooled around—love—round—in love.”_  
  
He repeats the words, his voice box fluctuating, from static to bass, and he runs a command and his chassis opens. The two humanoid figures are silent, staring at him, lights still in his face, and with one mobile hand, reaches for the inside of his hull.  
  
_“—And—held my hand—wasn’t scared—more.”_  
  
His optics record his own limb, processes that his nano-plaster casing has withered and his rusty skeletal wiring remains, and he pulls out the photo.  
  
_“—promised me—never—alone again—“_  
  
He raises it to the two others, the circuitry in his hand shortening out, pausing halfway.  
  
It’s still intact – the white border faded to brown, and the color slightly gone, but his optics record Keith’s wide-eyed gaze and his own casing looking back.  
  
_“What—people lived there too? What if—are others—in—places, too?”_  
  
“Hell-o. Hell-o. It is nice to meet you.”  
  
_“What if they thought they were alone – alone in this big universe – like us, but then they’d travel and they’d come here and they’d realize ‘Oh, we’re not alone.’”_  
  
A figure steps into the light, and Shiro records the purple color of his skin, and the five-digit limb – _hand_ , his motherboard supplies – and the figure takes hold of the photo.  
  
It’s the first speaker—Kol-van, his internal calibrator notes—that takes the photo.  
  
“Hello. It is nice to meet you, too, Shiro.” Shiro records the words, and the humanoid’s bright gold eyes, pupil-less and shining in the dark.  
  
_“I would like that. It’s nice not to be alone, and we’d meet them and they’d meet us and we’d all talk and be friends._ ”  
  
His generator shortens out, and Shiro’s voice box goes haywire. Keith’s voice turns from pleasant bass to static to silence.  
  
His mission done, Shiro finally deactivates.  
  
_Termination prompt._

* * *

_“_ We wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

**Author's Note:**

> Some parts I didn't add to the story because I felt that doing so would lessen the emotional impact, and also because I'm trying to practice brevity lmao:
> 
> A. Shiro doesn't talk because he's an android that was surviving on capacitors that worsened over time. Considering Keith and Shiro were trying to live in the aftermath of a nuclear fall-out, it'd be impossible to find fresh capacitors that can work extensively and since Shiro's an android with a general directive to keep operating, he had to compartmentalize what parts he was using and that would not take up too much energy.  
> B. Keith's origin is intentionally indistinct. He may be a survivor from the fall-out, or, perhaps he's also another android...that's become advanced enough to take in human attributes. His origin is entirely up to whatever you're comfortable with.
> 
>    
> Also, I'm participating in a zine (my first ever!) so if you wanna check it out, [here's the link](https://sheith-family-zine.tumblr.com/About).
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read!
> 
> Come scream at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spaceboykenny) and on [Tumblr](https://spaceboykenny.tumblr.com/)


End file.
